Odds In Our Favor
by lesbiquinn
Summary: Quinn Fabray, a teenager living in the 12th District in her country, lives on the verge of life and death every single day for sneaking over the fence to hunt. Little does she know that her chances of dying are going to get a lot bigger.
1. One

A/N: I read The Hunger Games a few days ago and I've fallen so in love with it that I've decided to try and mesh it with the other thing I love, Glee. There are going to be parts from the book that I've omitted and parts that I've changed for obvious reasons. I really enjoyed writing this first chapter, and I hope you enjoy it as well. Please feel free to leave feedback. I've rated this story as M, because although there isn't much mature content in the first few chapters, it comes into play later on.

I do not own the Hunger Games or Glee...I wish I did.

The sun blinded me when I opened my eyes, and although I shouldn't have, I grabbed the blanket and covered my face with it. However, today isn't a day for sleeping in, so I grudgingly get out of bed and start to get ready for the day.

I throw on my worn clothes and lace up my boots so they won't come untied when I'm out wandering around. I dip my hands into a bucket of water and rub my face with it, mostly my eyes to wake me up. It was still rather early, which meant I definitely had time to head out to the woods. I wish I could stay out there all day long, for today is the day that everyone in the country dreads; today is the day of the reaping.

Before I exit the house, not caring to wake my mother and tell her I'm leaving, I take a look at myself in our cracked mirror. My blonde hair has become shaggy again, but it's been months since I let my mother touch it. I quickly pull it back and braid it, mostly to keep it out of the way when I hunt.

Hunting has always been second nature to me, ever since my father taught me how when I was little. He did most of the actual hunting back then, but I picked up a lot of knowledge and carried it with me. I kept a journal and recalled our trips into the woods in my writing. Surrounding the woods was a fence that was supposed to have an electrical current running through it, but most of the time it was off. There were also holes in the fence, plenty big enough for myself and my father to squeeze through.

Five years ago, when my father died, I was too scared to enter the woods without him. My mother and I were starving, and she wasn't doing anything about it. I tried as hard as I could to find something, _anything_ for us to eat, but I often came up empty handed. She and I were slowly starving to death.

One night, while scouring our home for something to eat, I came across the journal I had kept back when my father was still alive. I read the entries and became engrossed in them. Then, after turning a page to find no more writing, I decided that it was time to venture out in the woods on my own.

On my first day by myself, I did a lousy job finding food, but I eventually caught a small rabbit. It counted as something and I was proud of my first kill. I didn't go far into the trees by myself, mostly fearing that I would forget how to get back, but I went far enough to find where my father and I would hide our bows and arrows.

My father crafted the bows with his own hands, and they were beautiful. Had it not been illegal, he could have sold them and made a fortune off of them. I loved to watch him work on the bows and arrows. I found it so fascinating that he eventually made one just for me and he even showed me how to use it. I've always been good with the bow, but I've only grown better over time. I spend so much of my life in the woods that it's become second nature to me.

Ever since that first day, and that first rabbit, I've been returning to the woods to hunt for food for my mother and myself. Eventually I started to hunt so much game that I began to sell it at the Hob, which is a black market of sorts. It took me a while to return to the market after my father died. He was well known and well liked there, which meant the same for me, for the most part.

The fence, as usual, has no electricity coursing through it. I crawl under my usual spot and make my journey into the woods. I keep my bow and arrows in the same hollow logs my father and I did. It's the perfect hiding place. I can't being them home, because it's very much against the law, but crawling under the fence and hunting in the woods is against the law as well. Almost every single thing I do on the daily basis breaks a law of some sort, but it keeps my mother and I alive, and that's all that matters.

I take a seat on a nearby rock and bathe in the sun before I check the snares I set up the night before. Right as my eyes start to drift shut, noise pulls me back to reality.

"Hey, Q."

Santana. My eyes fly open to see the girl wearing what she normally does, her sack on her right side and her hand holding a dead turkey. She flashes me her perfect smile, which is somewhat of a rarity in my district because there isn't anybody that works on teeth here, and sits down beside me on the rock. Santana is the only person I know that calls me Q, which is short for my real name, Quinn.

"Santana." I nod my head at her and let the corner of my mouth turn up.

"Jay gave me some goat cheese this morning to celebrate."

I roll my eyes at her and she smiles again while bringing out the cheese from the sack she carries with her, then she pulls out a roll and breaks it in half, spreading the cheese on each side. This is a treat, but I wish today was something actually worth celebrating about.

"Thanks," I say as she offers me half.

Santana lives in a family of six, which is something unheard of in our district. She has two younger brothers and three younger sisters, as well as both of her parents. Trying to support and feed that many people is difficult, especially in District 12. Santana is one year younger than me, but she is just as, if not more, courageous as I am.

I met Santana in the woods a few years back while hunting. While I was checking my traps, I actually found her tangled in one of them. I laughed before I could stop myself and watched her struggle a bit longer before I cut her free. We've been friends ever since. I've taught Santana a lot of things, but she has taught me plenty as well. I could hardly shimmy half way up a tree trunk before I met her, but now I can climb up almost faster than she can.

She and I hunt together and split the game. She has many more mouths to feed than I do, so I often let her take more. Santana is the support unit of her family, much like I am of mine, and we watch each others backs. I'm actually quite close with her family. I spend more time at her house than I do at my own.

"We could live out here, you know. You and I."

Santana's voice startles me, and I laugh at her.

"What about your mother? And your father? And all of your sisters and brothers? What about my sorry excuse for a parent?"

Santana shakes her head and laughs.

"It's just a thought, Quinn. We could do it."

My eyebrow raises and I shake my head right back at her.

Santana and I check the snares we se the night before and gather up our game before heading back to the hole in the fence. I hide my bow and arrows and wish I could crawl in there with them.

Santana and I take our game to the market and sell the extra off, making some spare change. She and I have been doing this for months now; coming here and making deals with some of the people you'd least expect.

After we finish up, I bid her farewell and head home to change into my dress for the reaping.

The reaping is something every person in the district must attend, unless you are on your death bed. The concept is simple; every year, the pick two slips of paper out of a giant ball. Every teenager, aged 12-18, has their name on a slip of paper in there at least once. Usually more. You can re-enter yourself into the drawing if you want extra food for your family. One for every member besides yourself that isn't of age for the reaping. Ever since I was twelve, I've entered twice. That means my name is in the ball 14 times.

Santana is in there many more times than I am, so many that I can't even keep track. Every year I dread it's her that they'll pick, but so far we've been lucky.

The drawing is for the Hunger Games, which have been held every year in our country for 74 years. Two teens are pulled from each District (there are twelve) and all twenty four of them compete and fight to the death inside of a dome. All of it is televised.

There is no escaping the Games, no matter how hard you try. People can volunteer to take your place, but that very rarely happens in a poor District like ours. I'm seventeen, which means I have one year left in the drawing until I'm free. I wish the same was for Santana.

I pull my mother out of bed and tell her to get ready, and she does so in a robotic manner. When she's finished, I get myself ready and wear a dress I found in her closet. You have to look your best for the reaping.

When we arrive, they herd us like cattle into sections divided by age. Santana's age group is next to mine, and I seek her out and give her a small, reassuring smile. There are thousands of slips of paper in that ball. I'm praying that neither of us get picked.

Santana's little sister, Jay, is in the reaping for the first time this year. She's only twelve, and it's very heartbreaking to see when young ones like her get picked. Santana refused to let her re-enter herself, so she's only in there once. She's safe. I don't know what I would do if Jay was chosen. She's as much of a sister to me as Santana is.

The ceremony begins, and the woman on the stage begins the speech about our country and why we hold the Hunger Games. I've heard it so many times that I don't even listen any more. I can only concentrate on the balls holding all of our names. Mine fourteen times. Santana's more than I can remember. Jay's once.

The woman on stage, whose name I can't remember for the life of me, heads over to the ball and it becomes so silent you could hear a pin drop. She reaches her hand in and pulls out a slip. My palms begin to sweat when she takes her time to open it.

When she finally rips the seal, and clears her throat, I close my eyes so hard that it hurts and wait for the worst. Which is exactly what I get.

The woman on the stage calls "Jay Lopez" into the microphone.


	2. Two

My heart rattles to a halt. Jay? How could they have possibly picked Jay, out of all of those names?

I frantically search for Santana in the crowd, and her face is blank. She's just about as clueless as I am. But why isn't she volunteering? She isn't she standing up for her sister? Then it hits me: Santana has a family to take care of, mouths to feed. If she leaves, they'll be worse off than they will without Jay.

I'm screaming before I even realize it.

"Stop! Don't take her, stop!"

The Peacekeepers, our equivalent of police, don't stop.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I scream. I can't watch Jay die, and I can't watch Santana die without her. I have no choice.

The Peacekeepers take Jay back to her family, seeing as her name is already out of the ball, and begin to escort me to the stage. I don't look for my mother, I don't look for Santana or her family. I take a seat next to my mentor, who is a woman named Shelby that sits more properly than I've ever seen anyone sit.

I look out to the crowd and wait for them to pull the second name. I clutch my stomach, praying that it's not Santana and relief pours through my veins when I hear the woman shout "Sam Evans" into the microphone.

They pull him up onto the stage much like they did with me and I get a good look at him. He and I look very much alike, almost like siblings. I catch his eye and I can't read his expression. I don't really know much about Sam, I've seen him before, but I know that he doesn't want to be up here. Nobody does.

As they finish the ceremony and escort us off the stage, we're told we will have one hour for goodbyes.

The first person I see is Santana, and she's sobbing uncontrollably. I hug her and she starts to thrash against my chest, screaming at me.

"This isn't fair!" She yells, "It shouldn't be like this!"

"I can't change the law, San."

I spend nearly my entire goodbye hour with Santana, telling her where to hunt and how to do it.

"I promise I'll take care of your mother. I promise."

My mother has entered my thoughts for the first time since I volunteered. After Santana leaves, she pushes her way into the room and gives me a hug. I return it, for the first time in months, and then I'm whisked away to head for the Capitol.

The next few days are a blur. There are so many train rides and makeovers that I can hardly keep track of it all. It's strange to look at myself in the mirror after they've made me look "presentable," but the clothes are nice and it's almost pleasing.

I get to know Sam a little better, and I learn that he has a younger brother. His father is the baker (that's where I knew him from) and they're well off enough to get by without him there. That makes one of us. Sam is so polite and sweet to me. It kills me knowing that I'm going to have to kill him eventually…or maybe it'll be the other way around.

Sam and I attend the events and meet our stylists. I feel so strange being dressed up and I feel like a complete buffoon when they try and teach me how to walk in heels. It's a joke, really.

Our mentor, Shelby, is probably the smartest person from District 12. She won the 60th Hunger Games when she was 15, which is something that we don't see very often. Young players are usually eliminated first, which is why I couldn't watch Jay go. She wouldn't stand a chance in that arena.

Shelby won simply because she acted like she wasn't a threat. She hid and didn't attack until there enough people for her to eliminate on her own. Shelby turned out to be a killing machine, which was a shocker because she looks nothing like one, and won the games within a few days.

That being said, Shelby has done nothing but coach Sam and I. She's giving us all of her tips and strategies. She warns us, however, to not do what she did because it would be predictable, which is obvious.

Sam isn't very bright but he is very strong. I've seen him lift a few things here in there. His strength almost surprises me. He and I spend most of our time together, because we don't know anybody else, and I've learned a lot about him. In most of our interviews, people almost always ask if we're dating or if we're related. Sam and I laugh it off easily because it's become somewhat of a joke to us.

Sam is handsome, but he isn't for me. I also have no business getting involved with someone who I'm probably going to have to watch die, or kill him. Even if we weren't in the games, I could only see Sam as a friend.

It's the first day of training and I'm going to meet my opponents. I had the opportunity to see them on the television on the train ride here, but I was too preoccupied with the fact that I was even on a train on the first place to pay attention.

I walk into the Training Center with Sam and quickly realize that we're the last ones here. Sam and I have a choice on which station we work at first, but before we do that I ask him to tell me who these people are.

He points to the people from District 11, and calls them Shane and Sunshine. Sunshine is so small that I don't see her being much of a threat besides her speed, but Shane is pretty big. I can't tell whether or not he's a real threat.

Sam continues to go down the list, naming off people from each District in order from greatest number to lowest. Jacob, Hank, Azimio, Lauren, Dave, Sugar, Harmony, Jesse, Mercedes, Tina, Matt, Mike, Artie, Sebastian, Blaine, and Kurt. When he points at the Kurt, he keeps his eyes fixated on him much longer than someone normally would.

"Do you know him from somewhere?" I ask.

Sam shakes his head and directs my attention to the other group of people.

The Careers. The people that have been training for this day for their entire life. The Careers are usually the winners of the Games, and they're usually the biggest threat. They get the most sponsors and they also look better and healthier than the rest of us.

First, Sam introduces Rory, who came from District 1. Rory look soft and cuddly, but that's probably an advantage for him; people won't see him as a threat. The boy next to him is named Finn, and he is humongous. Bigger than the rest of us here, by far, and his height isn't the only scary thing about him. His arms are pure muscle.

The boy opposite end of Rory and Finn is a little shorter than Finn but much more muscular. His hair is shaved into a Mohawk, something I only know from seeing it on the Hunger Games years ago, and he seems to have an arrogant smirk on his face. He's from District 2.

"Where's the other? From District 2?"

Sam points his finger in the direction of where the knife trainer is, and I see a small brunette girl. She's marching over to the target and it takes me a moment to see it, but when she walks away, I can see that she's drawn a small star on the middle of it. The trainer raises an eyebrow at her, but after she's padded her way across the room, she throws four knives so fast that I can hardly see her do it.

All of them land around the center of the target, and the last one hits the middle of the star.

"Her name is Rachel Berry," Sam whispers.

Rachel turns to collect her knives, but when she pivots towards me, she catches my eye and she smiles.

"Why are you looking at her like that?" Sam asks. I wish that he was a little bit smarter.

"Well, Sam, you don't usually give someone you hate looks of affection, do you?"


	3. Three

**A/N**: I know this chapter is way short, but it's something. I have a cold and it's giving me huge headaches which makes it almost impossible to write. Hope you like the story so far, thanks for the reviews. xx

The nights I spend alone in the bed the Capitol has provided me are when I'm the loneliest. I often think about Santana, and her family. Her little sister Jay. I wonder if she's been able to hunt successfully by herself out in the woods. I wonder if she's even going out at all.

I laugh at that thought, knowing that if Santana had ever heard me say it, she would sock me clear across the shoulder. She may have depended on me before, but now she's just as skilled of a hunter as I am. This is probably the last time I'll ever fall asleep laughing.

Shelby wakes me early the next morning. "You've got a long day of training ahead of you today."

Out of all of the people I've met in the Capitol (or because of the Capitol), Shelby is the one I trust most. Which is incredibly infuriating, because she looks so much like that Rachel girl from District 2 that she could be her mother. I know she isn't, but it's an irritating and distracting coincidence.

I get ready for the day and wear the clothes that are sitting on top of the dresser in the room I'm living in. The Capitol is so very different from District 11. I'm waited on hand and foot, and I've worn clothes that probably cost more than everything I've ever owned and everything I've ever hunted put together.

It's funny, actually, how the Capitol pampers us for a few days and then they send us to die. It's almost a slap in the face.

I eat breakfast with Sam, Shelby, and my stylist as well as his team. They're constantly blabbering about something and I've learned to tune them out quite well. The only time I listen is when Shelby has something to say, which isn't often.

Sam is the most entertaining think about breakfast, as per usual. Unlike me, he focuses all of his attention on our stylist and his crew, and tries to get in on the conversation. He never has any idea what any of them are talking about, which is hilarious.

Sam can be stupid, but his knowledge definitely shines through from time to time. He is incredibly muscular, much like the Puck from District 2, but he doesn't have the ego that goes along with it. I'm still unsure if I want to be his ally.

Breakfast is over quickly and before I can prepare myself, Sam and I are ushered into the Training Center again. Today, I am actually going to focus on training rather than watching my opponents train.

I spend some time in the section that teaches you how to make a fire, but it doesn't really teach me much because I already know how to do it so well. Sam is spending his time in the camouflage section, and I can't help but laugh at him when he draws a pink flower on his cheek. Sam allows me to feel a little bit of relief from the stress I'm under.

After visiting a few other training sections, I find the bows and arrows. They aren't a thing like the one I own back home, but they'll obviously have to do. I inspect them for a bit when I pick them up, trying to get a feel for them. I see the human dummies across from me, which is strange because I've never really aimed at a human before.

The first attempt is a complete joke. My arrow falls to the ground right after I release it, and I swear I can hear someone scoff behind me. That gets my blood boiling, and I prepare for my second try.

I pull back, and when I release, the arrow whizzes and pierces right where the dummies heart would be.

The room goes silent, and I almost refuse to turn around to see their faces, but I end up doing it anyway. Most of the other players are giving me looks of disgust, but it's Rachel Berry, the girl from District 4, that catches my eye. She isn't looking at me as if she hates me, or even wants to kill me. She looks intrigued.

I turn around with a smirk plastered on my face, and I almost start to show off a little, until I remember what Shelby told me on the first day we met when Sam asked what to do during training.

"Don't show off, and don't show what you're best at. It's better to take them by surprise. If they know what you're good at, they're going to use it against you."

I keep that in mind as I drop the bow and arrows and head for the section where the knives are.

I can't help but notice that Rachel Berry still hasn't stopped staring at me.


	4. Four

It has become impossible for me to fall asleep. I lie awake in bed, tossing and turning, hoping that eventually I'll get so tired that I'll pass out from exhaustion. It never comes. My mind is too occupied with thoughts of Santana, her family, and even my mother. I've even caught myself thinking of Sam, and wishing I won't be the one that has to kill him.

He and I have become closer over these past few days. I've learned a lot about him. He has two younger siblings, and much like Santana, he takes care of them. My heart breaks for him in that moment. I can only imagine how sad his brother and sister are without him there. It's a shame that I didn't get to know Sam before this debacle, but then again, if I had known him, it would be ten times harder.

I lie on my back through the rest of the night, and jump a little when I hear rapping on the door.

"Are you awake?" Shelby asks through the barrier.

"Yeah," I groan, and pull myself out of bed.

Today is the last day of training, which means the Gamemakers are going to rate all of the tributes on their skills, on a scale of 1-12. The rating helps you get sponsors, which you desperately need in the arena. It can also make you seem like much more of a threat than you actually are. Or it can do the complete opposite.

Shelby, Sam, and I all sat at the breakfast table. Before we all got up to leave, Shelby's mouth started running a mile a minute. She was telling us to give it our all in there, with the Gamemakers.

"That's where it counts. I don't care what you do, just make an impression and please, _don't_ kill them."

I had to stifle a laugh at that because, really? Had someone actually killed a Gamemaker? The thought was utterly hilarious.

All of the tributes were sent to the Training Center once again, free to practice some more, while the others were getting rated. The ratings went in order of District number, 1 being first and 12 being last. The boys went first as well, which meant I was going to be the last one in that room. Shelby had talked to me about this earlier.

"There are plenty of advantages to going last. You're the freshest in their minds, and if you do well enough, it'll probably help you out in the long run."

Problem was, what was I going to do in there? Shoot some arrows? Throw some knives? Anything I could possibly do would no more than anything else they've ever seen.

I sat on the mat in the middle of the large room with Sam and anxiously awaited my turn. I zoned out, thinking about Santana and what she would do here. Probably some backflips or something. She was good at those.

Rachel is called into the room and I watch her waltz her way into the room, clearly confident.

I've never even spoken to Rachel, but I can't help but find her infuriating. Why would anybody want to take part in something so cruel, so violent? I wish I could slap that smile she's always wearing right off of her face. It would make me feel a little bit better about the shithole I'm living in.

A few minutes later, Rachel walked out of the room, her smile nowhere to be seen. I smirk at this. Maybe she didn't impress the judges like she thought she would. Serves her right.

The rest of the tributes get their turns and before I know it, Sam has to go in the room. I have absolutely no idea what he's about to do, because he's not really skilled at anything. I cross my fingers for him.

I'm too caught up in my thoughts about Sam to even realize that I'm next and I still have no idea what I'm doing. I feel my palms begin to sweat and I'm shaking. But why? Why does this even matter to me at all? I should be walking straight into that room not giving two shits about what those Gamemakers think of me. They're the ones that are sending me in that arena to get killed, why should I even give them the time of day?

Sam exits the room and I get up, brush off my pants, and head in. The Gamemakers are sitting at a table across the room, laughing with one another. They haven't even noticed that I've come in. I almost turn around and exit, but then I remember the sponsors, and I grudgingly walk towards a bow and arrow. Right as I'm doing so, a servant brings in a giant roasted pig with an apple in it's mouth. I start to shoot the arrows at the targets, but after a few shots, I realize the Gamemakers still haven't paid any attention to me.

"I can't fucking believe this" I whisper under my breath.

I don't even stop myself when I turn to the Gamemakers table and aim my bow at them. Right as they're all starting to stare at me, I let go of the arrow, and it pierces right through the apple in the pig's mouth.

Their reactions are hilarious. Several of them jump, most of them scream, and even one of them faints. I have to hold back my laughter, and then I remember why I did it in the first place.

"Thank you for your time. I'll let myself out."

And with that, I walk out of the room, and head towards the dining hall.

Shelby interrogates both Sam and I about what we did in that room. Turns out, Sam ended up throwing some things. I should have expected that.

"Quinn, what about you? What did you do?"

I hesitate telling Shelby, but I might as well. She's going to figure it out anyway.

"I starting shooting some arrows, but them weren't paying attention to me. So I shot some arrows at them instead. Well, at the pig they were eating."

Instead of going crazy and waving her hands over her head, Shelby closes her eyes and nods. And then, she smiles.

"Good."

After dinner, I'm sent to my room to change for the revealing of the rating. The tributes are sent out to where they were originally interviewed when they're given their scores. It adds dramatic effect, says Shelby.

When the numbers start to light up on the screen, I actually feel nervous. I'm probably going to be completely without sponsors, which is going to make my life in the arena five times harder.

Finn, Rory, and Puck all got 8's. I'm surprised when Rachel lands a 9, higher than all of the other careers. Not because she's a girl, but because when she walked out of that room, she looked like she had really fucked up. I turn my head to her, waiting to see that stupid smile of hers plastered on her face, but much like earlier, she's stoic. Puck pats her on the back and I can only see the corner of her mouth turn up for a quick moment before it's gone.

Sam lands an 8, which makes me proud. I turn to him and smile, congratulating him. At least one of us will hopefully get something.

The screen grabs my attention again and I anxiously await my score. Is it possible to get negative numbers?

When the number flashes, my heart almost stops.

Because the number up on that screen is an 11.

…

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! I know I've been slow lately, and I profusely apologize. I'm going out of town for Thanksgiving, but when I return home…expect updates.


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